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Diane regarded him from beneath her lashes. ‘And that’s all it is? This—need you have for some time alone, for some space?’
‘I swear it.’ Matt spread his hands. ‘What do you think? That there’s someone else? Goddammit, Diane, when have I had the chance to find someone else?’
‘I don’t know everything you did while you were in Abuqara,’ she protested. ‘Tony said that Abuqaran women are really beautiful—’
‘Tony!’ Matt was scathing. ‘I might have known Tony Corbett had a hand in this. Since when has he been such an expert on Abuqaran women?’
Diane shrugged a little defensively now. ‘He was only speaking objectively.’
‘I’ll bet.’
Diane pulled a face. ‘He’s my boss. He cares about me.’ She paused. ‘I’m glad he’s wrong.’
‘Yeah.’ Matt managed a faint smile in response. ‘So—what are you going to do? I’d offer to let you stay the night but only one of the rooms is furnished.’
‘We could always share—’ began Diane, and then cut herself off with a wry grimace. ‘No, scrub that. I can’t stay in any case. I’ve got a meeting with the board of governors this afternoon and I’ve promised to have dinner with Helen Wyatt this evening. She’s hopefully going to give the gallery some good publicity and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her. No, I’ll drop in on Mummy and Daddy and then I’ll head back to town. I suppose I just wanted to assure myself that the move had gone OK, to assure myself that you were all right.’ She paused. ‘And obviously you are.’
Matt inclined his head. ‘Thanks.’
Diane managed a bright smile. ‘My pleasure,’ she said, restricting herself to a quick squeeze of his arm. ‘OK, you look after yourself, right? I’ll be in touch again in a couple of days.’
The words ‘I’ll look forward to it’ stuck in Matt’s throat and he gave a rueful smile instead. ‘You take care,’ he said, as she picked up her handbag and headed towards the front door.
‘I will,’ she replied, and he felt guilty when he heard the sudden break in her voice. ‘Bye.’
‘’Bye,’ he answered roughly. But he closed his eyes against the sudden surge of relief he felt as the BMW crunched away down the drive.
‘I’ve been thinking, perhaps I could build a run for Amy’s rabbit in the garden. That way, Harvey wouldn’t be able to chase him. What do you think?’
It was a couple of days later and Fliss was making a shopping list to take to the supermarket in Westerbury when her father joined her. He had spent most of the morning editing an article he was writing about the need for care in the community, but now he came to lean on the table next to her chair.
Fliss looked up in some confusion. In all honesty, although her fingers were busy detailing the household goods and foodstuffs they needed, her mind had been far away. Well, across the churchyard actually, she conceded drily. Despite her resistance, Matthew Quinn had had that effect on her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, blinking rapidly. ‘What did you say?’
‘The rabbit,’ said her father patiently. ‘I was wondering whether it would be a good idea for me to build it an enclosure in the garden.’
‘Oh.’ Fliss endeavoured to get her brain in gear. She hesitated. ‘Do you think you could?’
‘I dare say.’ He straightened and regarded the expanse of lawn beyond the windows. ‘We can’t keep the poor thing trapped in its hutch all day, can we?’
‘I suppose not.’ Fliss shrugged. ‘Unless I take Buttons to the animal shelter while Amy’s at school.’
‘You wouldn’t do that,’ said her father firmly. ‘OK. I think there are some slats of wood in the shed. Perhaps you could get me a roll of netting when you go into Westerbury. A couple of metres should be enough.’
‘More than enough,’ agreed Fliss drily, hoping he wouldn’t destroy her flowerbeds in the process. She got to her feet. ‘What shall we have for lunch?’
It was a quarter to two when Fliss parked the Fiesta on the lot adjoining a small retail park. A do-it-yourself outlet, an electrical store, an auction warehouse—where Fliss sometimes liked to browse—and a supermarket circled the central parking area. Fliss liked its location because it was situated at the edge of town. It meant she didn’t have to negotiate the maze of oneway streets that characterised the central part of the city.
It was hot, the grey spire of the cathedral rising tall and impressive against the vivid blue of the sky. She knew she was lucky to live in this part of the country. It was very busy at this time of year, of course, with foreign tourists and more local traffic thronging the streets and clogging up the main arteries. But it was worth it for the times when there were no visitors, and she could walk along Cathedral Close and visit the ancient church without being jostled by the crowds.
She had got what she needed from the supermarket and was stowing her shopping in the car when she saw him. He was coming out of the auction warehouse and, judging by the fact that the manager had accompanied him outside, she guessed he’d bought something substantial.
Or maybe Harry Gilchrist had recognised him. Fliss knew the man who was with him. Harry Gilchrist’s son was in the same class as Amy at the village school. A single father himself, he’d often tried to draw Fliss into conversation. He evidently thought they had a lot in common, but Fliss didn’t encourage single men. Or married men, for that matter, she thought wryly. She was happy the way she was.
Now, however, she wished she had been a little more friendly. Then she might have felt free to saunter across the car park and exchange a few words with him and Matthew Quinn. Just to find out what Quinn had been buying, she assured herself firmly. Not with any idea of presuming on what had been a very brief acquaintance.
In any case, Diane was probably with him, she thought. Just because she wasn’t visible at the moment didn’t mean she wasn’t around. It was the most natural thing in the world that a couple who were planning on setting up home together should look for suitable furniture. Yet, knowing what she did of Diane, Fliss wouldn’t have expected her to want old—albeit valuable—furnishings.
Still…
She turned back to the car and finished packing her shopping into the boot. It meant wedging things together, but she didn’t want a jumble of spilled goods when she got home. Then, closing the hatch, she straightened—and looked directly into Matthew Quinn’s eyes, staring at her from across the car park.
For a moment she was immobilised by his gaze, which seemed more penetrating than the brilliance of the sun beating down on her bare head. Had he recognised her? Was that why he was staring at her? What was she supposed to do about it? Smile? Wave? Ignore him? What?
The dilemma was taken out of her hands when he nodded in her direction. Yes, she thought, feeling the erratic quickening of her heartbeat, he had recognised her. She felt ridiculously gratified that in spite of Diane’s hostility he did remember who she was. But then, it had only been a couple of days since he’d seen her. And he had been a journalist, after all.
She’d confirmed his identity by following her father’s example, when he was researching a story for his column, and checked the Internet. And, although the pictures they’d shown of him didn’t compare to the way he looked now, she’d been left in no doubt that he was the same man. He’d been gauntfeatured and skeletally thin when he’d returned from his imprisonment in Abuqara, but the strength of character and intelligence in his face had been unmistakable.
She hadn’t told her father who he was, however. She’d consoled herself with the thought that it wasn’t her job to expose the fact that they had a celebrity living in their midst. It was bound to come out sooner or later. Maybe Harry Gilchrist would be the one to blow his cover. Just so long as it wasn’t her. For some reason, that was important.
Deciding that the netting her father had asked her to get could wait, Fliss pulled her keys out of her pocket and started towards the driver’s door. It had suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t bothered to change before she came out. In a white cotton vest and pink dungarees that fairly screamed their chainstore origins she’d be no match for Diane in her expensive designer gear. She wasn’t a vain woman, but she had her pride.
She had no desire to allow the other girl to embarrass her again. She swung open the car door, but before she could get inside, she heard someone call her name. Matthew Quinn was striding across the tarmac towards her and there was no way she could pretend she hadn’t noticed him.
Once again, she was impaled by the distracting intensity of his gaze, and she found herself turning to press her back against the car, holding on to the handle of the door with nervous fingers.
‘Mr Quinn,’ she said, clearing her throat as her voice betrayed her. But in narrow-fitting chinos and a black T-shirt, he made her nerves tingle, his dark eyes and hard features more familiar than they should have been. ‘How—how are you?’
‘I’m getting there,’ he said drily, regarding her so closely she was sure no aspect of her appearance had gone unremarked. ‘How about you? How’s—what’s its name—Buttons getting on?’
‘Oh—he’s OK.’ Fliss wondered if anyone would believe they were standing here having a conversation about a rabbit. She swallowed, forcing herself to look beyond him. ‘Is Diane with you?’
‘No.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘Are you heading home now?’
‘Yes.’ Fliss lifted her shoulders awkwardly. ‘You don’t need a lift, do you?’
‘Would you have given me one?’ he enquired, a trace of humour in his voice, and Fliss felt her cheeks heat at the deliberate double entendre.
‘Of course,’ she replied, refusing to let him see he’d disconcerted her. ‘Well, if you don’t need my help…’ She glanced behind her. ‘I suppose I’d better be going…’
‘Do you have time for a coffee?’
If she’d been disconcerted before, his question caught her totally unawares and she gazed at him with troubled eyes. ‘A coffee?’
‘Yeah.’ His mouth turned down. ‘You know, an aromatic beverage beloved of our so-called civilised society?’
‘I know what coffee is,’ she said a little stiffly.
‘Well, then…?’
Fliss hesitated. She was getting the distinct impression that he was already regretting the invitation, but he’d made it now and he’d stand by it.
So why shouldn’t she take advantage of it?
‘All right,’ she said, feeling a little frisson of excitement in the pit of her stomach. ‘Where do you want to go?’
Matthew Quinn frowned. ‘Well, there’s a coffee shop in the supermarket, isn’t there? Or—’ His mouth thinned. ‘We could go back to my place.’
‘The supermarket sounds fine,’ said Fliss hastily, turning to lock the car again. She moistened her lips. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘Why shouldn’t I be sure?’ he demanded, and then sudden comprehension brought a sardonic twist to his mouth. ‘Oh, right. You think I might want to avoid public places, yeah?’
Fliss gave a nervous shrug. ‘It’s your call.’
‘But you know who I am, right?’ he persisted, and she gave him a defensive look.
‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’
‘Perhaps I hoped,’ he admitted, moving closer as another car came to take the slot beside Fliss’s. ‘I guess the whole village is twittering about it.’
‘You flatter yourself!’
Fliss used the retort to put some space between them. The other car had initiated an intimacy she hadn’t expected and she couldn’t deny she was flustered. The brush of his arm against hers had stirred an awareness that pooled like liquid fire in her belly and she was desperate to escape before he realised she was unsettled by his nearness.
‘Do I?’ he asked now, falling into step beside her as she hurried towards the supermarket. ‘How’s that?’
‘Well, I didn’t say anything!’ exclaimed Fliss hotly, feeling an unwelcome trickle of perspiration between her breasts. Rushing about in this heat wasn’t just unwise, it was stupid. ‘If you don’t believe me—’
‘Did I say I didn’t believe you?’ he countered softly. Then hard fingers fastened about her upper arm, bringing her to an abrupt stop. ‘OK, let’s start again, shall we? I know I probably seem paranoid to you and I’m sorry. It’s what comes of spending the last six months trying to pretend I’m normal. Obviously I’m not being very successful.’
Fliss’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said after a moment. ‘Of course you’re normal. It’s me. I’m too easily offended. But, honestly, I haven’t told anyone who you are.’
His lips twitched. ‘I believe you.’
‘Good.’ Fliss forced a smile, even though she doubted anything he said would slow her pulse. ‘So—do you want to go in?’
Matthew Quinn smiled then, which did nothing for her rattled equilibrium. Yet there was a vulnerability about that smile—as well as a raw sensuality—that seemed to tug almost painfully at her heart.
The fact that he’d actually said nothing to warrant such a reaction disturbed her quite a bit. She had no reason to feel sorry for him, for heaven’s sake. Or was feeling sorry for him her defence? The alternative—that she might be attracted to him—was definitely a more dangerous proposition.
‘You wouldn’t reconsider my offer of coffee at my house,’ he said at last, when she was almost at breaking point. ‘Maybe you’re right; maybe I do flatter myself. But right now, I’ve got no desire to risk being stared at yet again.’
Chapter Four
HE WAS sure she would refuse.
As he released her arm and stepped back from her, he realised he was banking on it. He’d already regretted issuing the invitation, however urgent his motives had been. All he really wanted to do was go home and close his door against the world. He wasn’t up to entertaining anyone. Diane’s visit had proved that. So what in hell was he doing inviting this young woman back to his home and risking his fragile independence yet again?
She was looking at him now, her blue eyes wide and troubled. What was she thinking? he wondered. That she couldn’t trust him? That he was some crazy nutcase who was suffering a bad attack of paranoia? If so, she was probably right.
She looked so innocent, he thought irritably. Which couldn’t be true. What had Diane said? That she’d got herself pregnant at sixteen? Hardly the behaviour of an innocent. And women could effect any number of disguises. Diane had proved that, too.
But this girl was nothing like Diane. He knew that. For one thing, Diane would never go out without make-up, or give so little regard to her appearance. OK, Fliss Taylor’s skin was smooth and creamy and seemed to need little improvement, but her hair clashed wildly with the pink overalls she was wearing, and, judging by the way her breasts moved, she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath that skimpy T-shirt—
Hold it! Where the hell had that come from? It was a long time since he’d even noticed a woman’s breasts.
‘All right,’ she said suddenly, startling him out of his guilty reverie. ‘Let’s do that.’ Was it only his imagination or was she putting a brave front on it, too? ‘I assume you came in your own vehicle.’
Matt’s gaze moved automatically to where he had parked the Land Cruiser. ‘Oh—yeah,’ he said, his heart sinking. He was going to have to go through with this. ‘D’you want me to follow you home or vice versa?’
‘I’ll follow you,’ she said at once, and he wished he hadn’t given her the option. Now he was going to be aware of her behind him, watching his every move, all the way back to Mallon’s End.
Great!
‘OK,’ he said now, forcing a polite smile. ‘I’ll get going.’
In fact it wasn’t as bad as he’d anticipated. She kept a comfortable distance between them the whole way and he’d already parked the Toyota and got out of the driving seat before she turned up the drive.
Fortunately Matt had visited the supermarket himself before he’d accosted her and now he hauled a couple of plastic carriers out of the back of his vehicle before wrestling his key into the lock.
‘Come on in,’ he said, backing up against the door to allow her to precede him into the hall. ‘You’ll have to forgive the state of the place. I haven’t gotten around to doing any decorating yet.’
‘Actually, I like it the way it is,’ she said as he closed the door behind them, and he remembered why he had wanted to talk to her in the first place.
‘Yeah, right,’ he said, edging past her when she paused to look up the curving staircase. ‘Diane said you used to work here. Is that true?’
A faint colour invaded her creamy cheeks as he spoke. ‘I might have done,’ she said, and he sensed she wasn’t as comfortable with it as Diane had implied. Her steps definitely slowed as she reached the kitchen. ‘Where is Diane, anyway? Did she suggest I might be interested in working for you? Is that what this is all about?’
He dumped the carriers on the pine table before he looked at her again. ‘Diane’s in London,’ he said flatly. ‘I’m sorry if you expected she’d be here. I’m afraid there’s only me.’
Fliss’s soft lips pressed together for a moment. ‘But she did suggest that I might be glad of a job, didn’t she?’ She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘I should have known.’
Matt hesitated only a moment. ‘If you know Diane at all then you should know that she’d never suggest I employed any woman under the age of fifty. Especially not someone she seems to regard as a rival.’
He heard her suck in a breath. ‘You’re joking, right?’
He hadn’t been, but Matt regretted being so honest. ‘Yeah, maybe,’ he said, knowing Diane would definitely not approve of him saying that. ‘Anyway, forget it. Which do you prefer? Tea or coffee? I have both.’
She hesitated. ‘Um—tea would be nice,’ she said at last. ‘Do you need any help?’
Matt’s mouth compressed. ‘Why? Do I look as if I do?’ He plugged in the kettle. ‘No, don’t answer that. My ego’s not up to it at the moment.’
A trace of humour touched her lips. ‘I’m sure that’s not true either.’ She wrapped her arms about her midriff. ‘What did Diane tell you about me?’
Matt didn’t want to get into that. ‘Not a lot,’ he said, not altogether truthfully. He unloaded some steak and a couple of pre-cooked meals into the fridge. ‘I guess Amy’s at school right now, isn’t she?’
Fliss nodded. ‘She’s in year five at the village primary. You must have seen the school as you drove through.’ She paused and then went on. ‘So—do you need a housekeeper?’
